The Revenge of Darkness
by Fuiniel
Summary: Fifty years have passed since the Fall of Sauron and the Destruction of Barad-dûr. However not all of evil fell with Sauron and his regime. One of his greatest servants escaped the defeat of his master, and broads a passionate hate for those who caused th


Fifty years have passed since the Fall of Sauron and the Destruction of Barad-dûr. Long have the foes of evil pursued their enemies, felling them in great numbers in pursuit of peace throughout the land. Many places previously fallen into decay are seeing the light again. The strength of the kings of old has pervaded the lands, with King Elessar as its king. Éomer Éadig has taken up the throne in the Golden Hall, with the daughter of Imrahil beside him. Within Ithilien dwells Legolas Greenleaf and his peers, and the ringing of hammers again is hear within the Glittering Caves, as Gimli son of Gloin and his kin take up their smithies there. Rewrought in sparkling _mithril_, the new gates of Minas Tirith usher forth the new city, where joy and gossip now ring through the alleyways. Many of the Fair Folk have passed on to the Undying Land, feeling that Middle-earth was no longer in need of their aid. Yet few still remain, Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond among them, governing the affairs of Rivendell. Life in the Shire goes on much as it always has, caring little for the estate of the rest of the world. Though bands of orcs still wander through the lands, peace fills the major part of lives. Children have grown with little to no knowledge of war, tuning trades of arts rather than skills in battle. Some were naïve enough to feel as though the Final Battle had been won and that no more shalt any evil trouble the earth. The Wise however, could feel in their hearts that another malice was growing outside of their gaze, a hidden power waiting with patience.

In the kitchen of a small cottage a little west of Waymoot stood a female hobbit tending to some chores. As she washed the dishes that lay soaking in a metal tub full of sudsy water she looked longingly out the circular window above the sink basin. Her curly reddish-blonde hair was tied back from her face by a yellow bandana. Her dress was simple and hinted little to her lineage. She was the youngest daughter of the Master of Buckland, but hardly any would be able to tell that, minus the adventurous glint in her eyes.

A loud knock on their front door broke her from her fantasies. Two sets of small pattering feet could be heard racing to the door, so she chose to stay where she was. After a short muffled conversation, her eldest son poked his head into the kitchen. "It's for you, Ma." She had figured as much. She wiped her hands on her apron, and exited the kitchen. Only a second passed before she shouted back over her shoulder, "Don't you even think about touching that cake, Hal!" The little lad, who had indeed been dragging over a stool to get to the cake on the counter pouted and put the stool back.

A little hobbit lass was staring up at the man in the doorway with a great curiosity that was making him feel a bit uncomfortable. He let out a sigh of relief as an adult of the household stepped into view. He dug a piece of parchment out of his side satchel. "This is for you, madam. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lot to get done today."

"Of course," Iris Took said half-consciously, inspecting the letter. "Thank you." She closed the door, and picked up the little toddler, who struggled to see the piece of paper.

"What's it?" Lórien murmured excitedly. Her mother did not know what to say.

"I have never seen this seal before. Perhaps we should wait for your father to come home."

"Now!" the toddler screamed. This brought a faint smile to Iris's face.

"All right, now we shall." She sat down at the kitchen table her two children crowding her to see what it was. She slit the ornate seal, and unfolded the piece of parchment. The lettering inside was fine calligraphy. Iris's eyes darted immediately to the bottom of the page to see who it was from. Her breath caught in her throat.

"What's it say?" Hal asked impatiently.

"It-it says," Iris began, recovering from her initial shock, "'To the Free-peoples of Middle-earth. In mark of the fifty year aniversary of the Desturction of the Ring, King Elessar and Queen Undómiel are gathering together all the heroes of that time and holding a large festival in celebration. The festivities shall begin on March 25, 48 F.A. or Rethe 24, 1469 S.R. at Minas Tirith. Please feel free to bring friends and relations. Good health, King Elessar and Queen Undómiel'"

All three hobbits leaned back a bit, all for different reasons. Iris in her excitement could barely sit still. Lórien didn't understand the letter, for it held some very large words and strange names that her toddler vocabulary could not hope to comprehend. Halfast's interest had faded from the letter and now he wanted to find something more exciting to do, since this letter seemed full of boring adult things.

"What's'a mean?" Lórien asked before Hal could get away. A smile was crawling across her mother's face though she could not understand why.

"It means that we could be going to Gondor for a party." Hal's interest was suddenly sparked. Lórien had no idea where Gondor was, but she did know what party meant. She leapt up, jumping up and down on her chair.

"Party! Party! Party party party!"

Hal to looked excited. He had heard his grandparent's tales of Gondor and the outside world and thought actually visiting would be extremely exhilarating.

Iris ignored her children, turned in on her own thoughts. "If we can convince your father," she muttered quietly.

Beregond Took blew into his hands and rubbed them together, trying to get them to warm up. The bitter March cold was pervading through his mittens and coat. He quickened his pace trying to think about the warm fire and possible hot cider that would await him at his house. It had been quite a dull day at the _Swooping Falcon_, the pub that he was a chef for during the winters, when the no crops would grow. Barely a handful of hobbits had dropped by, and usually only for a warm cup of tea before making their way back through the cold.

Beregond shook his head. He promised himself that he would spend the rest of the evening in the huge stuffed chair in his living room with his pipe and a pouch of Shooting Star pipeweed.

The sight of his small home added a spurt of energy that made him walk even closer. He walked through the small gate, and up to the door. He saw the warm glow of a fire through the windows and smiled. Iris always knew just what he liked. He had barely stepped through the door when he was assaulted by two whirlwinds.

"How was your day, Pa?" "Papa!!" "Can I get your scarf for you?" "Coat?" "Here let me help you with that." "Help, help!"

Beregond stood there dumfounded at his overzealous children. "What's this all about?" he asked suspiciously.

Hal feigned innocence. "What's what about? Don't you want any help?"

"Help?" Lórien echoed, looking up at him with her big green eyes.

Beregond laughed and scooped her up into his arms. "Of course I always would love help." He tickled his daughter in her stomach and she squirmed out of his grasp. "I was just wondering if there was any other motive."

"Par-" Hal put his hand over his little sister's mouth.

"No, none at all," he reassured his father, trying to give his most innocent smile.

Beregond shrugged. "Alright."

He walked past the two children into the living room. Sure enough there was a bright blaze going. In his big chair was a large, warm blanket, and next to it were his pipe and a packet of pipeweed. He shook his head and wondered how many wives were this good. He was tempted to just plop himself down there, but he decided to find Iris first. _And then perhaps get a large mug of hot tea or cider,_ he added.

Entering the kitchen again he was stunned. On the table were two cups of steaming liquid, with a teapot in the center. His wife sat in one of the chairs, and there was another one open for him. Iris sat perfectly straight, giving him a kind smile. Slightly disarmed he slowly sat in the wooden chair. "Alright, what's this all about?" he asked, the height of his suspicions raised.

"What?" Iris asked, pushing his cup closer to him.

"Oh, stop the act Iris. The kids, the fire, the tea. What's going on?"

Iris stood. "Can't a humble wife dote upon her deserving husband?" She walked over to the cupboard, pulling from it a slice of the cake she had baked earlier, and set it before him.

"Alright, who are you, and what have you done with my wife?" Beregond mocked, setting his fork into the cake eagerly. Iris just gave him a smile, and stuck a hand into her apron pocket.

"Oh, and this came in the mail today." She took the letter out, and lay it on the table in front of her husband. She looked up and saw two small heads sticking around the door. With a meaningful look, the two hobbit children scampered off.

Beregond looked warily at the piece of parchment, noting that the seal had already been broken. Glancing one more time at his smiling wife, he opened it, still forking cake into his mouth slowly as he read. He nearly choked. Iris raised her eyebrows apprehensively.

Beregond struggled to swallow the remnant of his bite, and looked up at Iris, now understanding it all. "Iris," he said, his tone holding a severe warning.

Iris's charismatic exterior fell apart. "Why not?"

"We just can't."

"Why?"

"Travel is dangerous. Especially for hobbits who know nothing of the paths of the Wilderland."

"I'm sure there'll be a lot of us going. My parents, well my pa at least, and your pa, and I'm sure Far got an invitation, and I'll bet the entire Gamgee family will be going and—"

"Alright… alright. Iris think about Hal and Lór though, they-"

"I _am_ thinking about them. Admit it Ber, when you were a lad you wanted to go to Gondor more than anything in the world."

"But that was—"

"You'll disappoint him. And Lór is really excited to go to a party."

"Oh, very clever, Iris. So you've turned my own children against me. I still say no. Think about what everyone else will think. They already think we're cracked because of our fathers. I don't want to encourage those ideas by…"

"Oh pleas, Ber. If you really think that a trip will change how people think of you, then you really are cracked. Far is going. Think about what he'll say."

Beregond snarled. He had been cornered and Iris knew it. She pushed her advantage.

"If you won't come, I'll just go with my Pa." She walked out leaving him to broad on the conversation.


End file.
